Sunday, December 09, 2012

Passages

Over the years I have interviewed many people. Few were as colourful as rancher, Neil Jahnke. In my book Just a Matter of Time a chapter is devoted to Neil.

October 17, 2004

Yesterday,
the weather at home was mild as I set out on a journey to talk to
cattlemen about how they’ve been affected by BSE and the closed border. I
already have ten days worth of interviews done and wonder if the
producers I’ve spoken to in Manitoba have a different perspective than
those in the west.This morning, I wake in Qu’Appelle, Saskatchewan, to find three inches of wet snow covering everything in the valley. Neil
and Marilyn Jahnke are expecting me in the early afternoon. I met Neil
briefly once back in the summer of 1999 at the Canadian Cattlemen’s
Association (CCA) semi-annual meeting in Penticton, B.C. I was working
as the Communications Coordinator for the Manitoba Cattle Producers
Association (MCPA), and knew Neil by reputation. The following year, he
was elected vice-president of the CCA, which meant that in two years
time, he’d likely become president of this umbrella organization that
represents more than 90,000 producers across Canada.There
are people in the industry who are known for the things they say, what
they do or the place they run. Neil Jahnke is a real cowboy who is known
on all three accounts.The windshield wipers beat
frantically as the roar of the defroster muffles the radio announcer’s
voice. I pull onto the highway and head south, surprised that I’m alone
on the normally busy road.Halfway up the hill leading out of the
valley, I see that a tractor-trailer has jackknifed and lays sprawled
across both lanes. I churn up snow, creeping past men standing alongside
the road wearing ball caps and thick-soled felt-lined boots. They are
looking at the wreck, deciding how to clean it up.A long line of
cars waits at the top of the hill while a police officer stands in the
middle of the road directing traffic. An empty cattle liner has slid
into the ditch, too, and had it been full of cattle, this would have
been a catastrophe.Jackknife. To double or bend from the middle. That’s
exactly what has happened to the cattle industry. Everything came to a
crashing halt because of one cow, and since then, cattlemen have been
navigating a slippery slope. Waiting. Getting by as best they can in a
storm of uncertainty that just won’t let up.I spend a
few tense hours on the Trans Canada Highway, crawling along snow-packed,
polished pavement, hoping a nudge of wind won’t cause the car to shimmy
into the other lane. I turn off at Chaplin, opting to take the
backroads the rest of the way to Gouldtown.There are
few provinces in Canada that elicit more sarcastic, good-natured barbs
than Saskatchewan: Easy to draw but hard to spell. This province is
considered by most as one gigantic grain field interrupted only by the
occasional, odd-named town. But that perception is untrue. The northern
part of the province is rich with lakes and forest. The south central
region is some of the best cattle land in the country, home to 1.33
million cows and nearly 22,000 cattle producers. This is the second
largest beef-producing province.There is something
unspoiled about Saskatchewan that seems to rub off on its inhabitants.
The people here have a self-sufficiency that can best be described as
resilience from having grown up on the prairies. They are
straightforward and helpful. Teenagers here look you straight in the
eye.I’m told that you can travel anywhere in the world and you’ll
meet someone from Saskatchewan. Drive along the grid roads between the
towns Eyebrow and Gouldtown, and you won’t meet a soul.Taking my
eyes off the desolate, gravel road long enough to flip through a book
I’ve brought, I read that the town I’m looking for was named for an
early pioneer named Mr. Gould. Not a particularly fascinating story.Flipping
back a few pages I locate Eyebrow. It was “named for Eyebrow Lake nine
miles from the village. It is southeast of Elbow and the center of one
of Saskatchewan’s better hunting and fishing districts.”5I
grew up in southern Ontario in an area that was considered rural. After
moving to the ranch, I came to understand what the word rural means.
There were people who would ask why I wanted to live in such a remote
place. I’d answer with platitudes about the clean air and absence of
crime, but I’ve since come to realize it lies deeper than that.
Somewhere out here, buried deep in the chest of the prairies, is an
explanation why so many pioneers came west, and in spite of tremendous
hardships, never left.The Jahnke place is further back
from the main road than expected, and just when I think I’ve missed the
turnoff, my eyes are drawn to a line of hydro poles soldiering on to
the last place on the road.Coming up over a rise, I see the Big
Coulee Ranch nestled along the shore of the South Saskatchewan River. An
inch of new snow softens the look of the frost-withered prairie wool.
The river winds through the homestead, deep and blue as the back of a
peacock’s head. The simple, ranch-style house is on this side; the barn
and corrals sit on the other side, with a wooden bridge connecting the
two. Settled in 1879 by railway surveyors, the Big Coulee was
established with Texas cattle and has been in the Jahnke family since
the early 1900s.The car rattles over a corrugated
Texas gate that separates the yard and pasture. Movement in the distance
causes me to slow down to watch as a dozen horses crest the hill,
galloping playfully, kicking up snow and nodding at one another. They
continue toward me until their chests rub against the split rail fence
that surrounds the yard. They follow it until they are close enough to
the house that a whinny can be heard inside.As I get
out of the car, I wonder about the size of this place. Long ago I
discovered that you don’t ask a cattleman how many cows he’s got. The
old-fashioned fellows (and you can never be sure who they are) are
insulted by the question. They say this is similar to asking a man how
much money he makes, so I never do. I wait for him to offer, or go home
not knowing.I step from the cold wind into a porch
filled with warmth and the smell of coffee brewing. The wall is lined
with jackets, coveralls and a row of cowboy boots. A gravelly voice
hollers to come on in.Neil is sitting at the kitchen
table. His nose and cheeks are wind slapped from two days working
cattle. His hair, the colour of ripe grain on a frosty morning, sits
flat against his forehead, pressed that way by his cowboy hat. He
massages the full moustache that hangs like quotation marks at the
corners of his mouth. He takes a sip of scotch, then invites me to sit
down. He doesn’t remember meeting me and looks troubled by the fact.Marilyn
is at the opposite end of the table. She nods a polite hello, then
finishes sorting through a bundle of cattle files. She has striking blue
eyes, a quick smile and easy-to-keep dark hair. I notice a gentle rasp
in her voice when she offers me a cup of coffee. I accept a sandwich
while the three of us make small talk. Marilyn doesn’t seem to mind that
most of my questions are for her husband.The Jahnkes
aren’t ready to settle into conversation yet because their grown
children, Shane and Jennifer, are getting ready to leave. They came home
for the weekend to help brand and process cattle. Neil is concerned
about the weather so he checks the road report on the telephone’s speed
dial, relaying back that the highway is clear to the west. The kids wave
goodbye and tell their parents not to worry.Neil had
no idea in March of 2002 when he became President of the CCA that his
outgoing year would be spent battling the worst crisis the industry has
ever seen. He remembers where he was on May 20. He and Marilyn were on
their way to the CCA head office in Calgary when CBC called his cell
phone looking for comments.“On the 18th I knew there
was a suspected case,” he says, taking another sip of scotch. “I
couldn’t tell anyone and didn’t sell any animals either. Let me tell you
though, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind.”Within
hours of the announcement, the U.S. border slammed shut to Canadian
beef. With the industry here depending so heavily on exports, sixty
percent to the U.S., the closed border meant that it took only a few
days for beef and live cattle to begin backing up. Beef is a
multi-billion-dollar industry in Canada—daily losses were estimated at
$11 million.In those first few months everyone was looking for the answer to one question: When will the border re-open?In
other countries that have reported cases of BSE, it has taken up to
seven years for international borders to re-open. Producers, especially
feedlot operators, grew frantic. Some of the pressure was relieved on
August 8, 2003, when the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA)
announced that they would allow in boxed beef—boneless cuts from animals
under 30 months of age. This relieved some of the pressure off the
packing plants, which were now in the envious position of having a
market to ship to and an oversupply of fat animals waiting for
slaughter.For the Jahnkes, these months were
remembered as a blur of activity. Neil spent countless hours on the
phone, in meetings, and travelling between home, Ottawa, Calgary and the
U.S.. Because Marilyn was President of the Saskatchewan Stock Growers
Association, they were often running in opposite directions.“We
wore out at least two phones,” Marilyn laughs. “I’d be on one in here
and he’d be standing in the porch talking on the other.”Neil’s
ice blue eyes soften as he watches her light a cigarette. He opens the
pack and lights one, too, saying that 98 percent of the calls they
received were from cattle producers pleased with their efforts.“I
had people saying that Saskatchewan producers were getting updates
faster than anyone else because the president of the SSGA was sleeping
with the president of the CCA,” he laughs.Now each of them sits as Past Presidents of their respective organizations. Not as busy, but still involved.I
ask what motivated them to take on such high-profile positions. They
chuckle together and Marilyn shrugs, saying that they did what they had
to do.Neil’s grandfather, father and uncles were all
active with the provincial cattle organization. He attended his first
meeting when he was 30.“I always say that a person has
to take his turn in the barrel so others can shoot at him,” he
chuckles, smoking his cigarette down to the butt, then lighting another.
He doesn’t hesitate to voice his opinion about how the situation was
handled by government.With the exception of the CFIA,
Neil believes that the politicians, some bureaucrats and industry
officials on both sides of the border have worked diligently in the best
interest of this industry. He praised Federal Agriculture Minister Lyle
Vanclief and Vanclief’s successor, Bob Speller. It was level-headed
comments by politicians and industry officials in those first few days
after the announcement that kept the hysteria down as they stressed this
was not an epidemic but just one cow.“I started calling him ‘one cow Vanclief,’” Neil laughs.Canada
is the only country in the world that has seen their beef consumption
rise after reporting a case of BSE, thanks to fair reporting by the
media and common sense on the part of consumers. Many communities held
barbeques and “eat beef” rallies all across the country that helped
boost consumer confidence and brought out the competitive nature of
prairie folk.“Every time Alberta had a barbeque, we
had a bigger one,” Neil smiles, adding that 5,600 people came to a
cookout in Moose Jaw. Saskatchewan stood behind its producers the same
way they support their football team—unconditionally.I ask what would have happened if consumers had stopped eating beef.Neil
inhales sharply, shakes his head, then takes a drag from his cigarette.
He exhales slowly, blinks hard, then his eyes go to a faraway place.“It would have been the biggest wreck you’ve ever seen.”Afternoon
wears into evening. I’m offered a glass of rhubarb wine made by local
Hutterites. It’s both stronger and better tasting than I expect.The
actions of the CFIA are weighing down Neil’s thoughts. He recently
received calls from a small, producer-owned plant that is having
difficulty with them. He cites a doorway being an inch too narrow and an
employee wash basin set three inches too close to a door as reasons the
CFIA has refused to pass the plant’s inspection. Officials at the
agency are deliberately making life difficult under the guise of food
safety, not because they need to, but simply because they can.“Another
plant could have been killing 700 to 800 cows a day by now, but the
CFIA is dragging its feet.” He calls this harassment of the industry at a
time when fast tracking is needed.I’ve heard
countless explanations why it is taking so long for the border to
re-open to live cattle. I ask Neil if he understands the reason for the
delay.Neil explains that the Office Internationale des
Epizooties (OIE) administers plant and animal sanitation rules for
health and safety considerations under the World Trade Organization
(WTO) agreements, developing a risk assessment code for member
countries. It has five categories of BSE risk, ranging from BSE free to
high risk.With the support of the United States and
Mexico, Canada began immediately petitioning the OIE to re-write the
rules to take into account updated, scientific understanding of the
disease. Countries that have taken steps to manage the risk of BSE
should not be penalized by having their borders closed because of one or
two cases. The guidelines recently changed so that a country deemed
minimal risk can have one positive BSE case for every one million adult
animals in the previous 12 months, and retain low-risk status. Canada is
waiting to be officially declared a minimal risk country.He
is quick to say that the Canadian government does not hesitate to
enforce these same rules against others, closing borders immediately
upon the discovery of BSE. Some call this an artificial trade barrier,
while others say it is a necessary step if a country considered BSE free
wants to keep the confidence of other BSE-free trading partners. Neil
believes the Canadian government is as guilty as anybody when it comes
to playing politics with BSE and border restrictions.“We did it to other countries and now they are doing it to us,” he says.The
fact that the U.S. border did open in September 2003 to boxed beef from
animals under 30 months of age is both a credit to the USDA and a
compliment to our industry.“Canada is the only country
to ever export to a BSE-free country after only three months of trade
stoppage,” he says, adding that ranchers saw prices in the fall as high
as $1.30 a pound. No other producers in the world have been that lucky.
He wants producers to understand that things could have been a lot
worse.I ask where the U.S. producer group Ranchers Cattlemen Action Legal Fund (R-CALF) fits into the puzzle.Again,
Neil blames the CFIA. He explains that strict regulations imposed by
the government make it difficult for American producers to do business
here. There are two cattle diseases in the U.S.—Aniplasmosis and Blue
Tongue—that do not exist in Canada. These diseases are transmitted by
insects which cannot survive our harsh winters. Blue Tongue is the more
serious of the two because it is considered untreatable and sometimes
fatal. Aniplasmosis can be treated with antibiotics and animals usually
recover. Neither disease is contagious or a threat to human health, but
Canadian regulations mean American livestock accepted into Canada have
to first go through rigorous testing and quarantine before they can
touch Canadian soil. The CCA has been fighting against these
restrictions for years. They want the diseases placed on the annual
notifiable list just as they are in the U.S., which allows the industry
to take responsibility for managing the risk. Neil believes that if it
wasn’t for the rigid hand of the CFIA, R-CALF likely wouldn’t exist.He
says that for 17 years, cattlemen in the northern states have been
watching thousands of trucks filled with our cattle passing through
their states, and for the last 15 of those years knew there was no
scientific basis for the restrictions toward them. Neil calls this
Canada’s lesson to start basing decisions on science, too.“They
wanted to trade up here but the costs made it near impossible. So, they
got mad and then got organized and now we have R-CALF.”Suspecting
R-CALF would find reasons to petition to keep the border closed, Neil
shared this fear with the federal agriculture ministers and anyone else
in government who’d listen. Again he recommended the relaxation of these
import rules and even spoke to Brian Evans, one of the top men at the
CFIA.“I had him cornered on a plane, so he couldn’t
get away from me,” he laughs. “But he still refused to move on it, even
after having explained it to him in plain English. Unbelievable, really.
I’d rather deal with Revenue Canada than the CFIA.”Finally,
with mounting pressure due to the prolonged border closure, the CFIA
was forced to address the issue and relaxed the restrictions earlier
this year, but the damage was already done.While on the topic of the CFIA, I ask his opinion about how the McCreas were treated.Neil scowls and shakes his head.He
explains that the CFIA came to him once, concerned that Mel wasn’t
going to give up the animals. Neil phoned Mel and they had a long chat
and, of course, Mel understood; he was just angry and frustrated.
Afterward, Neil phoned the CFIA and told them that there would be no
problems at the McCreas.Neil looks past me, focusing on the wall over my shoulder, rubbing his moustache as he recalls that evening’s news broadcast.Apparently,
the CFIA arrived at the McCrea house shortly after they spoke, flanked
by RCMP officers, with the media and film crew close behind. Neil hated
watching Mel’s concern for his cattle being mocked.“I
wouldn’t be surprised if Mel never spoke to me again,” he says. “After
the fact, it looked like I was conspiring with those bastards against
him, which I sure in hell was not.”As we settle into our chairs after supper, I ask if there is a business more complex than the cattle industry.Marilyn
raises her eyebrows as she ponders the question. Neil tilts his head
slightly and thinks. It appears that nobody has ever asked this before.
We debate the complexities of lumber and the auto industry, concluding
that dealing in live animals adds a complexity otherwise missing from
most big business. In Canada, the beef industry was worth $30 billion to
the economy in 2002. Unlike chickens, eggs, hogs and milk, cattle
production is not managed by a marketing board. In fact, those two words
will quickly raise the ire of a true cattleman.I need to understand why.“We
regulate ourselves,” he replies, explaining that supply management of
beef would be the ruination of the industry, because orderly marketing
is considered subsidization by trading partners, and huge duties would
be imposed on our meat, making Canadian beef and live cattle less
competitive. For supply management to work, quotas would have to be
established, and that would shrink the industry to half the size in
order to eliminate the reliance on exports. Many producers would be
forced out of business, resulting in a waste of the natural prairie
grasslands that are good for little else. Neil calls proponents of the
idea selfish and stupid.We debate this and other
issues long into the night. Marilyn shows me the guest bedroom and it
isn’t long before I’m tucked under a snug, homemade quilt, listening to
the wind outside whistling through the coulee.The next
morning, I wake to the relentless wind and the glow of a sun halfway
up. Its reflection has cast everything outside in a silver blue sheen. I
emerge from the room to the quiet sounds of morning that begin in the
kitchen. A light glows golden and the smell of fresh coffee adds to the
cozy feeling of a warm house on a winter morning.Neil
stifles a cough to keep it from echoing throughout the still house. He
is standing gazing out the window, enjoying his first smoke of the day. “Some men have girlfriends or cabins at the lake,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. “That’s my vice right there. My horses.”I
peer out the window to see the animals looking back in at him. Knowing
Neil a bit better today, I suspect that these are expensive purebreds.
The stormy northwest wind whips pellets of freezing rain against the
window. Two more inches of snow have fallen and it is starting to blow.We
talk about the prairies and why he lives here. He admits that the raw
beauty of the place is something he’s gotten used to, but it isn’t
something he ever takes for granted.“Sure glad we did
those cattle yesterday,” he says. Most of his life he’s made decisions
based on gut feeling, and now confirms that once again his instincts
were right.We sit for awhile in silence, then I tell
him how much I like their coffee. He brightens, saying that there is a
natural flowing spring that supplies drinking water to the house.Marilyn
joins us and Neil offers to make breakfast. Once we’ve had our fill of
coffee, we decide to take a tour of the ranch. As we climb into his
diesel pick-up, Neil admits that BSE is not the first hardship that
Canadian cattlemen have faced.He tells me that in 1951
calves were bringing 33 cents a pound, and a year later there was a
Foot and Mouth outbreak that caused prices to drop to 11 cents. It took
until 1965 before they saw prices around 30 cents again.Ploughing
along prairie trails filled with snow, he shifts into four-wheel drive
to climb a steep incline. I hold on as the truck bounces along the rough
pasture.“I went to the banker in 1972 when we wanted
to buy the ranch and he told me that we’d never make it,” he says,
slowing the truck to a stop. The trail ahead continues for another truck
length, then the earth falls away. “This here is likely the prettiest
spot on the ranch,” he says, nodding for me to go out and take a look.
As soon as I’m out of the lee of the truck, the wind grabs ahold of me
and whips ice pellets against my face. I go only as far out as necessary
to glance over the edge. The water churns a few hundred feet below as
the snow tries frantically to fill up the valley. I imagine how
beautiful this spot would be in the summer.I climb
back into the truck and as Neil turns around and begins following our
trail back toward the house, he finishes his story, saying that in the
fall of 1973 he was offered 67 cents a pound for his steer calves and 75
cents for the light calves. He figured that price was too low, so he
held on to them and wintered them. In February he was offered 38 cents,
so he took it and ran, but there were lots of guys who wouldn’t. By May,
calves were selling for 25 cents a pound. “We had a
couple of really good years, but then that wreck happened. We just dug
in our heels and cut back. We didn’t hire any help and did all the work
ourselves. Marilyn went five years without a new dress or a new pair of
shoes.”Neil takes me to the other side of the river
where he suspects the cows might be. Sure enough, we find them
sheltering in a bluff of trees along a stream that feeds into the river.
We sit and watch the cows for a few minutes, beautiful black animals
that stand quietly watching us back.He explains he’s
expanded numerous times since buying the place from his uncle, and now
runs 1,200 cows, mainly Black Angus. A good portion are purebreds. Since
he calves on the grass, he uses easy calving, longhorn bulls on the
heifers. He claims to have a 95% calving rate and says that “my cows
work for me, I don’t work for them.”On the way back, I
point to a set of four old wooden wagon wheels in the field near the
barn. I’ve been looking for three years for a set to use as
ornamentation in the large flower garden along the south side of my
house. He smiles at the frivolity of this, but drives over so I can take
a look. Once again, I step out into the storm, but am thrilled to find
good oak wheels set snug in the rim, and about the size I’m looking for.I ask if he’ll sell them to me as I climb back in, breathless from fighting the snow and wind.He laughs, telling me I can have them. All I have to do is come back to pick them up. I can hardly believe my luck!“If
I had a dollar for every time I’ve given that set of wheels away. . .”
he chuckles as he swings the truck back onto the trail.Neil
asks where I’m heading as I load my bag and camera into the car. He’s
standing in the doorway of the garage, with his hands in his jean
pockets, stocking feet on the cold cement floor.I tell him there are people I’d like to see in Swift Current.“Well,
if you get the chance, go and stay at the old Commercial Hotel in Maple
Creek. You can’t do a story about the cattle industry without going to
old Cow Town,” he says.I nod that I will, then wave a quick goodbye as I pull the car door shut and turn up the heat before backing away.I
drive for awhile along the unmarked roads, distracted by thoughts about
cattlemen surviving hard times without asking for help. They wear their
independence like a badge of honour and if BSE has done anything, it’s
hurt pride as much as bank accounts.Suddenly, the
sights along the road look unfamiliar. I rifle through my bag and pull
out a compass; that helps me get back on track before I drain the tank
driving in the wrong direction. I fill up in Herbert, then pull onto the
Trans-Canada Highway west.The clerk at the motel in
Swift Current gives me a quiet room along the back of the lot and I
spend the rest of the afternoon writing. I make a few calls that
evening.A friend told me more than once that if I go
to Saskatchewan, I have to call Bob Switzer. I flip through my book to
the page with Switzer’s phone number and pick up the phone. A gruff
voice on the other end agrees to meet with me the next morning, but says
he only has a half hour to spare because he’s going to a cattle sale in
Maple Creek afterward. I can’t believe my luck again! We agree to meet
there instead and I hang up the phone, thankful for those moments when
things seem to fall neatly into place.NOTE:After
the book was released, I sent a copy to Neil and Marilyn. He later
called to say that those wagon wheels were still sitting in the field
waiting for me. All I had to do was come with the truck and pick them
up. I promised that I would, but never made it back. ___________________________________________________________